


Russian Roulette

by PsychoLolita



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angels of Death, Angst, Character Death, Death, Depression, F/M, Guns, POV First Person, Russian Roulette, Sad, Sad Ending, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 19:22:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16561793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychoLolita/pseuds/PsychoLolita
Summary: - This is super angsty, please take note of the tags before reading -A final game of Russian Roulette finally shows you who the man you assumed was a figment of your imagination truly is.





	Russian Roulette

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this short fic was inspired by dorklyevil.tumblr.com's Death Rick. It struck me so hard, that after a long run of being utterly uninspired I had to take the opportunity and run with it. 
> 
> That being said this is SO angsty and I caution you not to read it if you’re depressed or suicidal. The reason why is obviously in the title. I’m not saying this was great piece that will make you feel feels, but I just don’t want to risk it with any readers who are more sensitive to these kinds of things. 
> 
> _That being said,_ I hope you enjoy it if you do read it!
> 
> And thank you again to Dorkly for being so kind and allowing me! <3

Not a single light illuminated my room as rain poured in delicate droplets down my window. The overcast made everything darker, including my mood. I sat against my dresser, mascara tinged tears on my cheeks matching the form of the raindrops outside.

 _When had life really gotten so crazy? I was too young to be this sad, surely._ It seemed like the moments of happiness I was able to chase became more fleeting than usual. When I was able to finally grasp onto a drifting moment, it fluttered away from my hands as quickly as it came. I dragged the back of my hand underneath my eye, uncaring of my appearance. I was alone, anyway. I’d always be alone.

My phone lit up beside me. One missed call from mom. _She’ll understand._ _She has to._ There was nothing left for me. I had destroyed everything I loved and enjoyed and everyone around me seemed to put on a mask when I came around. One that said “glad to see you!” but hid “I wish she’d leave.”

I gripped the cold metallic barrel in my hand. _Did I have the gall to go through with this?_ Suicide wasn’t the answer. We’d all learned that. But it certainly seemed to stop what I was feeling. _It may pass on the burden to someone else, but what will I care then?_ Death would greet me sweetly with his gentle caress, taking all my worries and pain; such is promised in all the stories. But something in me still believed in fate. _Silly, I know_. I was never one for going without a fight, even if I was certain this was what I wanted. 

One shiny metal bullet. I slipped one shiny little metal bullet into the chamber and spun it. If I was meant to live I’d live. If I wasn’t, well…Another sob left my throat as I set the gun in front of me. It stood out like a sore thumb in my room, even through the darkness. I closed my eyes; tried not to think too hard.

When I opened them again, I saw him.

“Hello, darkness, my old friend,” I said quietly.

He was all stitched together, bearing half his skull. He was some kind of grim reaper figure that I assumed my mind had made up in order to cope with the damask situations I faced throughout my life.

“Are you ready?” He asked me, his voice velvety smooth and serene.

I sniffed. What a loaded question. A lull hung between us.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He only nodded, staying quiet then. He’d appeared to me many times before. Often times he only kept me company rather than held conversation. It was comforting to know he was there, but he’d never asked me such a question before. I pushed the gun to him, the faintest of smiles on my lips. When I smiled, he usually disappeared. Something about this visit felt different.

“You first,” I egged.

He looked at me, his stitched mouth staying perfectly still. His long fingers extended to lift the gun from the carpet, staring at it with an aloof curiosity, as though he’d never seen such a thing. He held the gun to his head with no reservation, swiftly pulling the trigger. Doe-eyes were my only reaction. He was so collected and sure. Every movement he made was smooth, as he slowly set the gun down and pushed it toward me.

Silence danced with the rain outside, a low rolling of thunder bellowed in the distance. It was my turn all too quickly. Another tear streaked its way down my face as I stared at the gun next. There were no second thoughts, only recalling memories that I wondered if I’d still have when all was said and done. I remembered my twelfth birthday party and how happy I was that my dad surprised me by coming home from a business trip he’d been on for what felt like years in front of all my friends. I remembered the way my mom held me during thunderstorm when I was just a little kid; the way my dog loved to bring me her toys to fetch with when I was sad. _Who would she fetch with now?_

But then the bad came flooding in, and my decision was solidified all over again. With a shaky hand, I picked up the gun. I wasn’t afraid of death. I welcomed it more than ever in this moment, with open arms and full of need. Fate was the only thing keeping me so long from the other side, whatever that may be.

The feeling of a gun on your temple is freeing and terrifying.

I closed my eyes, giving my lungs one last inhale to steady my hand. My eyes were glued to his face; the stitching of his pale skin and the dark void where one eye should be, making the ivory of his skull even brighter in the dimly lit room. I focused on him. His countenance was expressionless, yet calming. The invading feeling of loneliness and depression pressed on my chest like a million tons. I needed it gone.

_Click._

Disappointment quickly followed when I opened my eyes to find him sitting before me, closer now.

“Trust me,” is all he said.

I set the gun down between us again, curious as ever as to who this man I’d made up was. I’d never asked. Something in me was afraid to, but something else in me was content with the relationship we had over the years. He appeared to me at my lowest moments, and by doing so, I felt I could trust him. I wasn’t sure for what, but I did. Implicitly. When we first met, I was just a child. I’d lost all hope in myself that day. He only sat beside me. He didn’t touch me, he didn’t speak to me. He simply showed me he was there should I need him. Or so, that’s how it felt.

He extended his long fingers once more, taking the gun and pressing it to his temple again. There was a hesitation as we held each other’s gaze, as though he was studying me; as though he was making sure _I_ was still there.

_Click._

Alive again. He stood this time, the robes he wore flowing around his frame like a sort of archangel of death. He held the gun out to me, towering over my body in an unpressured way. I took it carefully, the heavy feeling in my chest radiating through my entire body as I readied the weapon again.

No more thoughts. No more contemplation. I was at an all time low that I wasn’t equipped to handle anymore. My patience and will had finally run out. There was none of me left anymore; none of me to return.

_Bang._

I opened my eyes, the warmth of a thick liquid running down the side of my head as I dropped the gun to the floor. A burning smell filled the atmosphere for a split second as I realized placidly what happened. The tall man before me was growing closer and closer with every passing second, engulfing me with his presence as he leaned down. His hand came inches from mine, his face even closer.

“You were a gift to me from the very beginning. Born from life to be given back to Death; a tale as old as time. Sleep, sweetheart. Take comfort in me.”

His lips locked with mine. I felt passion, sorrow and love intertwining within my being. A warming coldness that I didn’t know existed settled over me like a blanket. His hands held mine, and I squeezed them as every last ounce of uncertainty floated away from my entirety.

I took great comfort in knowing that I’d been dancing with Death since the day I was born. He knew every step, all the right timing. My memories seemed to replay in slow motion, heartwarming and heartbreaking. I saw myself slumped in place, alone in the quiet of my room, Death nowhere to be seen anymore.

Then, all was still. My heart slowed in my ears, and all was silent. I felt myself drift into an endless sea of tranquility and black.

I hadn’t realized before that he had been there to be comforting to me; to know he was always an option. Death knew I wasn’t ready all of those times before; just like he knew this time was different. He ferried me into the chilling, yet soothing void that I’d been craving for so long.

He allowed me the peace I was ready to die for.


End file.
